NOTHING'S THE SAME ANYMORE: PART 8
by deetatarant
Summary: Final farewells and fears


**NOTHING'S THE SAME ANYMORE: PART 8**

Ianto walked rather gingerly up the steps to Jack's office. His whole body still ached from the events of recent days, but the truth was his heart hurt a whole lot more. Grey had turned their world inside out, shattered the seemingly secure bubble that was Torchwood 3 and ripped it apart. Everything had changed. Ianto seethed with hatred toward to the young man who had lead them to so much pain and loss. He wanted to murder John Hart and Grey with his own bare hands but his love for Jack prevented him from doing so. And Jack had come back a man he did not recognise at first, a shadow of his former self. Ianto understood being buried for 2 millenia was hardly...what? Ianto couldn't comprehend how that had felt, didn't want to, it had put out the fire in Jack's eyes and Ianto doubted he would ever see it in his lover again. They were all empty now, not that he wasn't before, he'd already been down this road after Canary Wharf, but Gwen, Ianto knew how hard this was going to be for her. Thank god she had someone who cared enough to fall back on. Ianto and Jack would no doubt fumble their way through the pain over the next few nights venting their grief through sex. It was the only way for them. It meant not having to talk, but being able to let go with out inhibition.

The Hub felt like a hollow chasm, Owen's ipod no longer pouring out dance music from the portable speakers he had velcroed to his desk, Tosh was no longer humming to herself as she sat with her programs and calculations. The only sounds were Gwen's snuffles and tears and Myfanwy's mournful cawing up above. The last 72 hours had been the hardest Ianto could ever remember and losing Owen and Tosh had only been the tip of the iceburg. Cardiff was in a mess and many others had died in the chaos reigned down upon them. Ianto's brother-in-law and one of his neices had been two of the casualties. He decided not to mention it to Jack though, the older man was carrying enough guilt as it was. Ianto had spent the last two days on the phone, in crisis management. Jack and Gwen had been out into the city to help with the clean up operation. None of them had slept or even taken a break until this point. Gwen finally got to go home to spend time recovering with Rhys, Jack had retreated to his office and Ianto continued dealing with the phone calls, realising somewhat guiltily he should really be at home comforting his sister Rhianna.

He ascended the stairs and tapped on Jack's office door before entering, a sheet of paper in his hand.

Jack met him with haunted eyes, but a smile ghosted over his face. He was so immensely glad that Ianto was alive. The young man offered a faint smile in return, he looked exhausted, his usual posture gone in favour of the sack of spuds look in baggy jeans and an old T shirt, it was easier to slump in such attire. He looked far older than he should do for someone of his years. Ianto sank into the chair and closed his eyes.

"I've put the voice mail on. Anyone who actually really needs to talk to us knows the protocols for getting through everyone else will have to wait."

Jack nodded his agreement.

Ianto waved the piece of paper at him. "About this memo of yours."

Jack sighed. "I hope you are not going to lecture me about procedures."

"No Jack. Syuri Sato rang me this morning about Tosh's funeral arrangements. She has asked me take care of it provided she receives Tosh's ashes to take home to Japan we are welcome to do as we see appropriate. Do you want me to do this?"

Jack got up and poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Ianto before perching his backside on the edge of his desk.

"She was closest to you. I think Tosh would prefer for you to do it."

Ianto nodded. "I will then." He slugged the whiskey. "I have to go home for a couple of days Jack. I wasn't planning on telling you, but Peter and Manon were both killed in one of the explosions the other night, my sister...she...well you know."

"I was wondering when you were going to tell me. Is there anything I can do?" Jack took hold of one of his hands.

"Unless between us there is some way of making this last week never happen? I want you to come home with me. Torchwood be damned for a few days Jack, we are all going to need some time and do not argue with me. I've already made the arrangements with UNIT." Ianto's tone was not to be argued with and Jack was actually relieved that Ianto had taken the matter into his own hands.

"I guess we should lock up and go home then."

It rained the day of Peter and Manon's funeral. Ianto spent the day carrying his remaining three year old niece, whilst his sister was held by their mother. It was a miserable day, the only thing Ianto could clearly remember was how tiny little Manon's coffin was as it was set into the ground on top of her father's casket. Later that evening he left his mother's house and Jack drove him home in a comforting silence. Ianto had never been very good at talking about his feelings and that night he and Jack lost themselves in one another without uttering a word. Nothing needed to be said they were both hurting so much that words would be totally inadequate anyway.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day with a light westerly breeze. The day of Toshiko's memorial service. It was simple affair, not subject to religious metaphors, a private, quiet good bye for a few close friends and Toshiko's mother and grandfather. After the service they retreated to Ianto's flat where Martha and Tom had spent the morning getting ready all of the food that Ianto had organised. In the lounge set in his Victorian fire place was a large framed photograph of Toshiko and Owen, surrounded by flowers. The wake consisted of the remaining Torchwood 3 members, Martha Jones and her partner Tom, Syuri and Ando Sato and Rhys. They sat around the fire place on Ianto's couches talking about their two friends, sharing stories both funny and sad with Ianto translating into Japanese some of the words. Ianto spent most of the time in the kitchen, making coffee and fetching things for his guests. He was at a loss for words, as always and just wanted to listen. In truth he just wanted to cry and as of yet he hadn't. A week on now from so many deaths and there were no tears with in him to shed. Everything just ached, the weight of it pushing him into the carpet at his feet and choking him. No one would ever have guessed.

Tomorrow would be a new day. The first day back at work when they had truly put their departed colleagues behind them. It was something Jack had done so many times before. It never got any easier, Ianto knew that much somehow you just had to move on, take the next step forward. He was dreading going back to the Hub tomorrow, even though he'd already scrubbed the floors of Tosh's blood and removed their access to the computer systems....Torchwood would never be the same again. Owen would no longer insult him with one word and be fiercely protective over him with another. Tosh would no longer be offering her polite warm smile every time Owen had grown another mould culture in one of the coffee mugs. There would be....

Ianto cursed himself for allowing this tirade of emotion to unfurl. Jack and Gwen would need him to be stronger now, he had to be there for them no matter what. Ianto started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned expecting to see Jack, but it was Rhys, a friendly, concerned look on his face.

"You alright there mate?"

Ianto shuddered, his resolve suddenly shattered, it was the first time anyone had asked him all week. Tears leaked from his eyes and Ianto wiped at them on the sleeve of his shirt, the words still wouldn't come so he shook his head and carefully moved past Rhys to the hallway. He grabbed his coat and pulled it on leaving the flat as quietly as he could.

It was a sure sign that Jack's bad habits had worn off on him when he found himself on the roof of the Millennium Centre over looking his city. Ianto had always loved his home, a childhood of good memories for the most part and although it was always changing it never lost its essential Cardiffness. It was one of the few anchors that remained in his life. He loved standing here to watch it live and breathe, even now in the aftermath of so much destruction, the pulse was still strong, the body healing, prevailing. He came here to remind himself often. Ianto sat by the edge of the sloping roof and just watched as salt water poured down his face. He needed this concession to his grief, but he needed it alone where no one would bear witness to the weakness. As it was he was certain that Rhys would say something to the others. He hoped not, but that cheerful man had a caring nature and by now Gwen was probably pestering Jack to come and find him. Ianto was hoping that Jack wouldn't. Right now there was nothing anyone could do for him, he was still trying to get his head round everything and his mind was in a tail spin. His shoulder still ached incessantly from the injury, from what felt like another life time ago. Who was he kidding, it was another lifetime. Then it hit him. He wasn't grieving, he was guilty.

It should've been him at the nuclear plant, not Owen. Was Owen even dead? For the first time in his life Ianto had to ask himself if there was indeed life after death. Owen had already proved that possible once, though in what form would he exist now?

Manon was only 2 years old when John's bomb had killed her. Jack past crawling out of the swamps of time to reek havoc on them. Surely it should be Jack that he must hate? Ianto buried that thought before it went further. This was not his fault, a childhood mistake. Grey had made a choice, John had made a choice. All Ianto wanted to do was go down to the morgue and put down Grey. The boy was broken beyond repair anyway, and John? Ianto had no doubt that their paths would cross again and in fairness to the man he had helped, in the end. Far too late of course.

Ianto chewed at his fingernails, something he hadn't done since his father's funeral, and he watched Cardiff move on below him. He half wondered if would truly be able to do the same. Ianto was good at carrying his troubles for long months after the things that had befallen him, it was his weakness, his unwillingness to share his demons and let them go. They defined him, quite possibly in a way that he shouldn't let them. Maybe this was the time when he got to his feet and walked away from them, asked for comfort when he sorely needed it. Ianto knew he never would. How many times had he demanded that very thing of Jack? An eternity of grief against one life time? He did not want Jack to fall into hopeless insanity in eons to come, Ianto counted himself and his finite time on the Earth as being lucky. Lucky? Well fortunate maybe. The only grace from all of this. Tosh and Owen had died doing what they would have wanted to be doing at the end, saving others. Ianto could only hope that his own death would count for half as much. He glanced at his watch. Four hours had slid by. He got to his feet and did up the buttons on his coat to keep out the evening chill. Time to go home. Time to face the new days ahead. His first job of the day, to collect Tosh's ashes and take them to her mother for a final journey to Japan. He was planning on taking her via the Turnmill site, so she and Owen could say goodbye to one another. Ianto knew that was crazy, but he also knew what Tosh would have wanted. He took one final look across the city as the sun dipped down before turning away and heading for home, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

When he got home Jack was waiting for him, everyone else having gone home and Martha and Tom retired to bed in the spare room. No sooner was he in the door than Jack pulled him into a tight embrace and held him for a very long time. Ianto happily returned the gesture never wanting to ever have to let go again.

AN: Ok that was the last one! I've tried to keep it within canon with reference to the captains blog, the episodes and the archives book. Thanks to all who have read....

And reviewing...well thank you again.


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